


A Measure Of Silence

by Liddells



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character(s) of Color, Deaf Character, Deaf Harry Potter, Disabled Character, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liddells/pseuds/Liddells
Summary: Harry had never heard music. If he was asked, he would say there was music in the way ballerinas moved the one time he saw them on the telly when Vernon had fallen asleep and left it on, a slow kind of music when he was cleaning all day and his movements were steady and repetitive, and a wonderful music in the hands of skilled signers as they conversed in British Sign Language. See, Harry Potter was deaf. You might think that he developed the disability due to abuses from his brutish muggle guardians, the Dursleys, but he had been born that way and, quite frankly, didn’t consider it a disability at all. His Deafness was part of who he was, and he wasn’t ashamed of it the way he was of his scrawny frame or ill fitting clothing. At the very least, it meant he almost never had to hear the Dursleys yelling at him.





	1. Staccato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stac·ca·to /stəˈkädō/ with each sound or note sharply detached or separated from the others.

Harry had never heard music. If he was asked, he would say there was music in the way ballerinas moved the one time he saw them on the telly when Vernon had fallen asleep and left it on, a slow kind of music when he was cleaning all day and his movements were steady and repetitive, and a wonderful music in the hands of skilled signers as they conversed in British Sign Language. See, Harry Potter was deaf. You might think that he developed the disability due to abuses from his brutish muggle guardians, the Dursleys, but he had been born that way and, quite frankly, didn’t consider it a disability at all. His Deafness was part of who he was, and he wasn’t ashamed of it the way he was of his scrawny frame or ill fitting clothing. At the very least, it meant he almost never had to hear the Dursleys yelling at him.

He had partial hearing in both ears, something the audiologists from the school called “residual hearing” and the Dursleys called “enough hearing to know when they were calling his name” - it usually wasn’t, but that was a separate issue, and they had many problems communicating because of it. If the Dursleys had ever bothered to learn any BSL, they wouldn’t have any problem communicating with him; after the school’s audiologist had diagnosed the hearing loss, they’d brought in a BSL teacher and interpreter. Still, his “family” mostly preferred to yell until even he could hear the shouting and to point aggressively at wherever he was supposed to be going - usually the kitchen, Aunt Petunia's garden, or the cupboard he called his room.

The raven haired boy was currently in the cupboard - a cramped room under the stairs whose walls rattled whenever his cousin thundered down from his own room every morning, the only thing that could wake him up since cheap alarm clocks weren’t loud enough for him. There wasn’t much in the room to indicate that a person lived there, just a lumpy mattress, a few changes of frayed clothing three sizes too large, and bare walls. 

Harry was sitting on the center of the mattress, which was stained from dirt he brought in from gardening, with a threadbare book in his lap. It had an obnoxiously yellow cover and the pages were tissue paper thin from how often he’d flipped through them, but it was one of his most prized possessions. When he’d entered the school system and teachers had seen how he was physically unable to follow their directions because he hadn’t heard them, they’d called in an audiologist to assess him; the audiologist, a doctor who focused on hearing, was the one who had given him his first book on BSL and helped explain to the frightened child that he wasn’t broken or a bad student and how he desperately needed an interpreter in his classrooms. The Dursleys had protested, although less so once they realized that they didn’t have to pay for anything and having an interpreter meant that they wouldn’t have to pay for hearing aids, and Harry had met his interpreter before the year was out.

His interpreter was named Mr. Lupin, and he was a kind man who offered a small piece of chocolate to Harry each morning before Maths began. He got sick every few weeks - something that Harry accredited to “cooties” when he was very young and that some cruel students attributed to HIV when he was a bit older - but he was so kind and genuine that Harry would still pick him over any other interpreter offered if he’d had the choice.

Both his tutor and their relationship were strange but not unpleasant. When they first met, Mr. Lupin had seemed unsure of himself and his place in the world, had seemed confused by simple things like basic political or historical references, but Harry didn’t fault him. After all, the boy had spent most of his life locked away in a cupboard - and locked away by silence. Not the physical silence of his deafness, no, but by the lack of conversation in the house, by the lack of any noises that weren’t yelling, by the lack of friendly familial touches that could lend support or solace. At the very least, the animals he met while gardening for Aunt Petunia hadn’t seemed to mind that he couldn’t hear. According to his books, he was missing birds singing in the trees. Still, he suspected that most hearing people had never felt the nose of a rabbit bumping their palms to eat food from calloused hands. Their loss.

Lupin wasn’t normal, but neither was Harry. They both seemed slightly disconnected from the school they went to five days a week, as if they weren’t truly meant to be there and were just pretending they did. Like Harry, Lupin flinched at sudden movement and what Harry could only assume were loud noises; Harry was worried he’d be hit, but he suspected the instinct come from a different cause for Lupin. Whenever it happened, Lupin looked almost feral for the briefest second, his kind face twisted in a protective rage that would morph into kind concern as soon as he realized that Harry was alright. And sometimes, when he thought Harry wasn’t looking, he looked at Harry as if he were precious and loved. Harry had never experienced that before, and he liked it.

The semester before Harry’s eleventh birthday, Lupin was acting rather strangely at school - stranger than mysterious illnesses and chocolate that appeared out of his pockets without ever being melted or crushed. He was dropping hints about Harry moving on to bigger and better things, about him expanding his horizons, and Harry had had to ask a terrified but resigned “are you leaving me?” for the man to stop. Because no, he wasn’t planning to leave Harry Potter alone, not ever again, but they weren’t staying here either.

On July 31, Harry turned 11. It was a perfectly normal Tuesday and he was woken up, as usual, by his cupboard under the stairs shaking from an outside force. He dressed in the nicest clothes he had, a subtle birthday gift to himself, and pretended the threadbare and baggy t-shirt he wore was a suit or some other fancy, distinguished thing. He crept out of his tiny room, one hand always on the wall and bare toes pressing firmly into the ground beneath his feet so that he could try to feel and locate any sounds in the hallway. Through those, he noticed that the shaking he’d noticed before wasn’t actually coming from the stairs above him like he’d thought - and not from his doorway either. The floors shook in staccato blasts, and Harry used his sense of touch to follow it to its source. When he rounded the corner, one hand trailing on the wall despite the fact that his aunt would say he was leaving his grimy fingerprints on the wallpaper if she caught him, he froze at the sight before him.

In the living room, slamming a bright pink umbrella on the floor, was a giant. And by his side, papers tucked against his chest and looking resigned, was Mr. Lupin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Harry, I am also hard of hearing. Unlike him, I use American Sign Language and not British Sign Language. Because of that, I may make some correlations between the two languages and cultures that are not accurate; please inform me if so.
> 
> This fic isn't betaed or britpicked so please let me know if there's anything I need to fix. And as always, let me know if you liked it.


	2. Pianissimo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pi·a·nis·si·mo /ˌpēəˈnisəˌmō/ very soft or softly

Wizard. A word he’d made Lupin fingerspell letter by letter on his scarred hands to remove any ambiguity, a word he’d read on the giant’s lips until he could hear it ringing in his own mind, a word that sat so ridiculously right in his chest that he felt giddy and free even with the weight of it added. A word that made Uncle Vernon’s face red and Aunt Petunia's pale. He was a wizard. “Me?” The word left his mouth in a gust of air so soft he could barely feel it on his lips, utilizing a spoken language he rarely preferred over expressing himself with his hands. But pointing at his own chest didn’t seem quite enough to convey how thoroughly lost the boy was, how completely thrilled he was.  
“A wizard?” His words were so soft that he wasn’t sure even the hearing people in the room could hear him, especially over the sounds of his uncle yelling. He turned entreating green eyes to Lupin, the only one here he knew and trusted, and signed _I’m a wizard?_ with moisture gathering in his eyes. His hand raised, marking the edge of a wizard’s hat, and Lupin’s eyes crinkled from the force of his smile.

 _‘A wizard.’_ Remus agreed, ‘ _You’re a wizard, and so am I - and so is Hagrid.’_ He gestured over to the giant, ‘ _And we’d like you to join us at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’_ His fingertips danced over his palms, his fingerspelling crisp and clear and oh so impossible. ‘ _Like your parents did.’_

His parents. ‘ _They weren’t wizards. They died in a car wreck.’_ Harry protested, hands shaking, ignoring the argument that was happening in the same room, ignoring his red-faced uncle and the furious giant who kept slamming his flamingo-pink umbrella into the ground.

 _‘They didn’t.’_ Remus’ hands were shaking just as badly, his eyes just as wet. ‘ _I promise that I’ll explain more. But for now, Harry, please. You’re a wizard. I promise. Magic is real, and we want to teach you how to use it. We have to.’_

Harry didn’t have time to question why because the floor beneath him was tilting. At first, he thought he was dizzy from the shock, but then vibrant pink and orange flashes of light darted across his vision, and Harry tore his gaze from Lupin’s expressive hands to look at the man he’d been essentially ignoring this whole time. The wooden flooring around the giant’s feet was cracking, something halfway between a frothy bubble bath and boiling lava but bright pink in color rolling in the new gaps. “Hagrid.” He said in the too soft voice he didn’t use very often, inflection probably wrong, and it all stopped.

“Harry.” The man said, and Harry knew what his name looked like on another’s lips, didn’t even need to look at Lupin for the interpretation, to see the words on hands. “Oh, Harry.” Hagrid took a step forward, his massive chest heaving with emotions that Harry couldn’t place, didn’t know the cause of. His feet caught on the broken, jagged ground and Lupin reached out to steady him before drawing a thin stick of scratched wood - his wand! - and waving it in a complicated gesture that looked like a dance or an orchestral conductor. With minimal shaking of the house, the ground shifted back into position with nearly liquid movements. “Harry.” The man said again, mouth forming words that Harry could almost hear by now, “Yer a wizard, Harry.”

He shouldn’t believe it, not even after watching the magic that was Hagrid’s fury, not after seeing the restorative magic that was Lupin’s control, not even after the impossible magic his own soft words had cast on the room. Even Vernon had fallen silent; Lupin would have told him otherwise, but a quick glance proved it just as well. His face was the same puce as Lupin’s habitual red and yellow sweater but he was speechless with fury or fear, lips pressed into a thin line.

A thousand images flickered in Harry’s mind, as quick as Lupin’s fingerspelling when Harry was in trouble. The floor crackling and rolling in a sea of bubbles? lava? pure anger? magic, whatever that meant to Harry now. A snake at the zoo, twisting and flicking his tongue and saying words that Harry could hear despite everything else, and glass between them melting away. Harry crouched and trembling on the school roof as his bullies were left below. His hands glittering and gold the first time he signed his name, something he assumed was a trick of the light at the time. A flash of unnatural green light in a familiar room.

 _‘My parents weren’t killed in a car crash.’_   Harry signed, expression stony, not a single question on his face. He saw Lupin repeat his words, mouth shaping the sounds with a hollow sadness that echoed in Harry’s own chest. ‘ _And they were wizards - or, a witch and a wizard?_ ’ His hand pinched the imaginary wizard’s cap on his head again and then drew out an invisible witch’s nose before his face; the imagery got him a faintly amused smile from his interpreter, who also nodded at the correction, ‘ _And I am too.’_

Hagrid stepped forward again, now extending the papers that Harry had seen in Lupin’s hands earlier. They must have been passed off sometime during the chaos, Lupin shoving things out of his hands so that he could talk to Harry. “Here.” Hagrid said, Lupin moving to his side to interpret in easy viewing of Harry, “This is yours, Harry. It was given to me by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself.” His chest puffed up in pride as he dropped the name. Harry glanced over at Lupin, trying to see if he should know who this was, and was rewarded with the other’s name sign, the letter d trailing down his chest like a long beard.

Mr. H. Potter,  
The Cupboard under the Stairs.  
4, Privet Drive,  
_Little Whinging,  
_SURREY

The floor shifted under him again. This time, it had nothing to do with Hagrid and everything to do with the fact that the poor overwhelmed boy fainted. There were no pink bubbles, lava-like or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard keeping BSL and ASL straight; if you appreciate the effort, maybe leave a kudo or a comment!
> 
> 01/08/2019: Edited to remove the reference to Voldemort's laugh. I, uh, just realized that Harry wouldn't have been able to hear it.


	3. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cre·scen·do /krəˈSHenˌdō/ a gradual increase in loudness in a piece of music.

_ Harry’s knees buckled as he fell, blackness stealing across his vision so fast that he didn’t have time to worry about the ground rushing up to meet him, if he was really a wizard, or anything else. Hagrid reached a massive hand out towards him, but Lupin was faster. The man he’d known for most of his life lunged forward with a speed that didn’t seem humanly possible to the muggles watching in terrified silence, catching Harry before his head could make contact with anything harder than Remus’ chest. His time while unconscious was black and quiet and still. Peaceful. _

His life got louder after he left the Dursleys. 

He didn’t just mean the noise, although Diagon Alley was loud enough for even Harry to hear the occasional magical or mundane sound, but his life quickly become busier and fuller too. They were stopped by people who tried to grasp at his hands - hands he needed to use to talk! - and gasp out his name, people who knew him and seemed to think he should know why. On one such occasion, a man around Remus’ age stopped them with a shaky hand and a marveling expression when he saw the unlikely trio walking down the street: Harry, a massive giant, and an interpreter who had spent the past five years in the Muggle world and was slightly overwhelmed by the magical bustle of Diagon Alley after so long away from it. “He looks just like James!” The man cried, eyes finding and then skirting away from Remus’ pained expression. When Remus repeated the words, his hands formed an old name sign out of habit - the letter ‘J’ in BSL but moving along his cheek instead of his palm - before spelling it out.

_ ‘My father?’   _ Harry asked, Lily’s green eyes wide awestruck on James’ face.  _ ‘I look like him?’ _

Remus’ heart broke. He knew that the Dursleys had never so much as hinted about anything magical in relation to Harry or his parents, and he knew damn well from the past five years that Harry’s family was cold and distant - but surely, he’d thought, they would have shown the orphaned child a photograph of his parents? Dumbledore had sent some, after all. Remus had seen to it. Harry’s expression wavered and threatened to crumble as Remus took the time to process the newest development. He likely thought that he was about to lose the new connection to his parents that the stranger had unknowingly gifted him, and Remus’ heart twisted painfully as he responded. _ ‘You look very much like him.’  _ He replied _ , ‘I knew him - we were good friends, actually. I’ll show you a picture when we’re not quite so busy.’ _

And so Harry thanked the man and Lupin both before continuing, dazed and amazed and with the aches in his heart just a little bit less raw. Their next stop - their first real stop, regardless of all the times they’ve been pulled aside - is Gringotts to get Harry the money he needs to buy his school supplies. The building was a crisp white color and imposingly large in comparison to the stores around it; it towered over them, although seeming too grand to do something as common as to cast a shadow on the lesser buildings below. As they approached, Hagrid launched into a speech on how it would be impossible to rob the bank because of its magical defenses, a speech that Lupin dutifully interpreted for Harry, but the boy was barely paying attention to the words on familiar hands. He was much too focused on the pristine white stairs as he walked up to them with dirty muggle trainers, on gleaming bronze doors that glinted in the midday light, and the goblin guards in red and gold uniforms. ' _ What are  _ they _? _ ’ He asked, interrupting the educational lecture.

_ ‘Goblins.’ _ Remus rushed to explain, speaking aloud as he signed so that Hagrid would understand as well. He was worried that Harry might accidentally say or do something that would offend the pair of goblin guards or the numerous workers within the bank. Harry was a good kid, but the Deaf community was known for being blunt and eleven year old boys, even kind-hearted ones, could say things that hurt others without ever meaning to,  _ ‘They run Gringotts.’ _

_ ‘Oh, they’re wonderful.’  _ Harry replied at once, and Remus felt a small pang of guilt for doubting him - and a much larger swell of pride at the boy’s response.

_ ‘It’s good that you think so.’  _ Remus replied genuinely,  _ ‘There is prejudice in the Wizarding World against some of the non-human races. Centaurs, werewolves, giants - even goblins. I’m hopeful that being raised by Muggles will help you see that those prejudices aren’t rooted in anything substantial. We are all equally deserving of respect and compassion - magical or muggle, goblin or human.’  _ Harry gave him a critical look and spread his arms, indicating the length of his body as if to point out that he was raised Deaf in a hearing world and that he was, in fact, not white. He’d never known his father, but he did have his coloring, and he’d been harassed for things he couldn’t control for more than long enough to realize how little they mattered.  _ ‘You’re right.’  _ Remus replied wryly,  _ ‘I’m sorry.’ _

_ 'Anyways-’  _ Harry signed, putting the unintended slight behind him with a single, emphatic nod,  _ ‘That’s  _ why  _ I think they’re so great. It’s what you’ve been telling me since we met. It’s good to be different because embracing and encouraging differences is what make us strong. The world is better and stronger when it is kinder, and kindness costs nothing to give but is worth so much.’  _

Remus’ eyes were shining with pride and just a hint of tears; he was overcome by such a wash of paternal warmth that it took him a moment to gather his wits enough to repeat the message for the half-giant who stood beside him. Before he could do so, one of the goblin guards raised gnarled hands up, signing a heartfelt  _ ‘Well said, Mr. Potter.’  _ The short figure swung his arm out dramatically and the doors behind him opened as if by magic; it took Harry too long to realize that it actually  _ was _ .  _ ‘And welcome to Gringotts.’  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first read Harry Potter, I assumed that everyone was white like me unless Rowling dictated otherwise. As I grew up, I realized that I was taking a passive but important part in the same kind of normative erasure that I face every day as a queer person. People assumed that I was straight and cis when I wasn't because they thought that straight was the default. It's not and neither is being white.   
> In this fic, Harry is Indian, and Hermione is black. Those are parts of who they are as people, although it may not be mentioned much. Please let me know if there is _ever_ anything I do with the characterization of them or anyone else that is racially insensitive. Thank you.


	4. Harmony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Har·mo·ny /ˈhärmənē/ the combination of simultaneously sounded musical notes to produce chords and chord progressions having a pleasing effect.

Harry was delighted by the signing Goblin who greeted him and even more impressed with Gringotts by the time Hagrid pulled a key from one of his many, many pockets and they all clambered into a single mining cart. He was babbling away to Lupin as they careened down a track, his hands blurring from the motion. Beside them, Hagrid looked vaguely ill and was softly (for him) bemoaning his upset stomach and wondering how Harry managed to stay within the confines of the cart without clutching at it as Hagrid himself was doing. Privately, Remus shared his concern, but he’d seen Harry signing while doing other equally perilous but significantly more muggle things so he didn’t order the boy to grab hold of the cart like he was half tempted to. 

_ ‘Did you see?’ _ Harry asked, his hoarse, soft laughter bubbling from his lips. Remus had always loved the sound of it; Uncle Vernon had always punished him for it.  _ ‘He could sign! It’s just like when we go to the park for a class trip and people come up to us to say hi because they see us signing. You really  _ do  _ see signers everywhere. Even here. _ ’ He sighed happily as he let his hands fall briefly to his lap and the slight movement had Hagrid gagging again as the cart swayed. ‘ _ I wonder if other groups had their own signed languages. Oh! I wonder if the goblins have their own  _ and _ BSL. I should have asked him. Or is that rude? Oh - it might be worth it anyways! I didn’t even ask his name, and that  _ must _ be much more rude, right? I didn’t even tell him my name!’ _

_ ‘He knew your name.’ _ Remus reminded gently, prying his hands off the cart’s edges to sign with his young charge. He wasn’t as uncomfortable in the cart as Hagrid was, but he certainly was not as carefree as Harry seemed to be.  _ ‘Remember?’ _ _  
_ The boy frowned, running the event through his head. ‘ _ Yeah, you’re right. Remus,’ _ He faltered, brow furrowing,  _ ‘Why does everyone know my name? Why does everyone know me?’ _

Thankfully, they pulled up to the Potter vault before Remus had to tell the young boy that he was famous for the very same reason that he’d lost his parents; he wasn’t sure that being a celebrity was the place to start the conversation, and he wished they’d taken the time to explain more before taking him to Digaon Alley. But between the Dursleys arguing with Hagrid about if their nephew would be allowed to attend ‘a school for freaks’ and Harry fainting at what little had had learned, it had slipped his mind. Still, Remus promised himself, they’d tell him before he went to Hogwarts. Harry deserved that, at least.

_ ‘Errands first, explanations later.’ _ Remus chided, not for the first time, as he helped Harry out of the cart and towards the archway over his vault.  _ ‘This, Harry, is yours.’   _ Griphook the goblin - Harry had remembered to ask him for  _ his _ name at least - opened the vaults with a tiny golden key, and when the round door swung open, Harry wavered on his feet in shock. For just a moment, Remus thought he might hit the ground again.  _ ‘Are you alright there?’ _ He asked, cursing the fact that he couldn’t talk to Harry while also reaching out to steady him.

_ ‘I’m fine. But, Remus, this isn’t mine. It can’t be.’ _ Golden coins filled the vault in piles as tall as him - and taller, actually. They caught the meager lighting in such a way that it looked like they were washed in the glow of a bonfire, and Harry felt like they would dissolve if he took a single one from the nearest stack. Of all the things he’d encountered in the past day, his own wealth seemed one of the most impossible. He’d always been a burden on his Aunt and Uncle, and they’d never let him forget it; it didn’t make sense that anything like this could be his.  _ ‘Surely there’s been some sort of mistake.’ _

_ ‘Goblins don’t make mistakes - not with money or their business, at any rate.’  _ Remus replied easily, flashing a grin that was more confident than he felt. Harry’s reaction was just another sign that Remus hadn’t prepared him for today at all. Another sign that he had failed.  _ ‘Now why don’t we grab you some money for your supplies, then? Make sure you grab some knuts - those are the copper ones over there - for when you don’t want to break a galleon into change.’ _

It took some time and more than a little assistance, but they eventually filled a small pouch with galleons and introduced Harry to the wizarding currency system, even if he asserted that he would never remember the conversion rates ( _ ‘29 knuts to a sickle, 17 sickles to a galleon. What’s so wrong with metric units?’ _ ). Weighed down by gold and still remarking on the impossibility of the wealth within the room, the boy was ready to leave when a flash of color caught his gaze: a plain red and gold tie folded neatly with a shimmering brooch pinned to it, both glimmering from a preservation charm.  _ ‘What’s that?’ _

Remus followed him over to it, smiling sadly at the delicate silver flower attached to the tie.  _ ‘Your father wore that to the Yule Ball with your mother. Those are the Gryffindor colors, and that - well, that’s a lily.’ _ Hagrid had told Harry about the houses enough to say that his parents were both Gryffindors and that he should be wary of Slytherins; he didn’t know much of what they meant, not really, and Harry didn’t know what house he would be sorted into in a few weeks time. Still, he carefully lifted the tie in trembling hands and kept it close to his chest until they’d finished in the vault. With Harry’s money gathered, they had another quick stop as Hagrid picked up a small bag from an otherwise empty vault, and then they were stumbling down the marble steps of Gringotts, looking for all the world like a nontraditional but happy family.

Harry was still in his oversized muggle clothes, and he knew that he had his school uniform to buy before they left Diagon Alley for the day. He needed other things too: textbooks, things that must be potions ingredients, and, most importantly, a wand. His very own wand. The last item seemed like the most important for a wizard to have, but having money to spend  _ also _ meant that Harry could stop wearing Dudley’s hand-me-downs and looking like the financial burden he still felt he must be. That thought in his head, he turned back to Remus and Hagrid with a tight smile.  _ ‘I think it’s about time I went shopping for clothes.’ _ His signs were firm, movements sharp, and Remus looked surprised at the force. Harry’s determined front wavered when Remus didn’t reply right away.  _ ‘I… I’ve never done it before, you know?’ _

Remus’ heart was going to have to get used to breaking, he decided.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fun title for this one. With chapters this short, I'm realizing that I'll need more music terms than I know, and I'm already exhausted of researching them. I might resume later.
> 
> TW: There are a few passing mentions to the Dursleys being slightly abusive; please keep that in mind as you continue.

Hagrid left them alone to run another errand - something that a Slytherin would have questioned in an instant, but that neither Remus or Harry seemed at all concerned about - and Remus led Harry to Madam Malkin’s. Muggle clothing would probably suit Harry better, but Diagon Alley offered very little of it; they’d have to go on a separate clothing trip in a muggle neighborhood for anything but robes. The outside was just as lovely but far less imposing than Gringotts - purple painted wood with golden script announcing the name of the store. Harry liked it, he decided. He also decided that it was a good thing that Hagrid was doing something else; Harry wasn’t sure that he would have been able to fit in the store.

Remus and his charge walked side by side, hands down so that Harry had time to take in the new sight before trying to comment; they’d learned from a school visit to a museum that Harry ran into too many things if he was trying to sign in new environments while walking. The front of the store had a display of student robes - plain, black, and featuring accents in yellow, red, blue, and green; some were bare of any such detail, and Remus answered Harry’s questioning look by saying that they would gain the colored stripes after the owner was sorted.

 _‘How does the sorting work?’_ Harry asked before reaching out to touch the fabric of the closest robe, one with red edging.

Remus’ eyes crinkled fondly at the thought of Harry in the same house as his father and then tore his eyes away, clearing his throat awkwardly. Unlike Hagrid, Remus didn’t put much stock in inter-house competition. He and his friends had all been Gryffindors, but Sirius had betrayed James and Lily, so what did being a Gryffindor mean, anyways? Like he had been telling Harry for years, there were good and bad people in every group, and no one deserved to be stereotyped because of things outside of their control. _‘You’ll put a hat on your head; it looks like a witch’s hat, but it’s brown and patchy, and it’s called the Sorting Hat. Normally, it talks to you telepathically; I’m not sure if you’ll see BSL in your mind or hear words, so be prepared for either. It won’t take long, and then the hat will announce your house and you’ll go sit with them in the Great Hall. Honestly, it’s mostly a lot of waiting for your turn and not terribly exciting - oh, except for the song. That hat will sing you a song first.’_

Harry paused to consider that, sliding his hands over to the next robe - a blue lined one - and then a display of striped ties. _‘Hagrid says he’s sure I’ll be in Gryffindor because my parents were. He says that’s where brave people go, and I’ll be just like them. But they’re war heroes, according to you two, and I’m just a kid. Maybe I don’t want to be brave. Maybe I just want to go to classes, make friends, and be the best ‘me’ I can be. That’s okay, right?’_ Harry didn’t _feel_ very brave after all; he was frightened of so many things, things like the dark, cramped cupboard under the stairs and the anger of his family.

 _‘Of course that’s okay.’_ Remus replied firmly, _‘There’s nothing wrong with being in_ any _of the houses, regardless of what Hagrid or anyone else says. The best house to be in is the one where you feel like you belong, where you’re happy and grow into your full potential. No one is defined by a single trait, and you’re going to continue to grow and change as you age anyways. No one leaves and enters Hogwarts the same person. You’re only eleven, Harry. It’s_ okay _if you don’t feel like bravery is your defining characteristic; I know that you’re brave enough to do what’s right for yourself and others, and that’s all I care about. You are a_ good _kid; you’re kind and thoughtful and I’ve never been anything but proud of you. That’s what’s important. Wherever you end up, know that you’ll have a family in your house - and that you’ll be free to make friends in any house. And,’_ His scarred face crinkled in another smile, _‘I’ll be with you no matter what.’_

He knew he shouldn’t do it, knew that the Dursleys would have hit him for such an open display of emotion and affection, but Harry flung himself at Remus, pulling him into a tight hug. His interpreter stumbled back but caught him, his chest rumbling with a laugh. When Harry pulled back, green eyes slightly shiny, Remus ran a hand fondly through the boy’s mess of black hair. _‘Let’s get you some robes.’_ He spelled out the word and then signed it, hands moving down his chest in a motion the sign for ‘dress’ but not flaring out at the end.

Giggling at the imagery of Hagrid and Remus in Gryffindor red dresses, Harry turned to grab one of the plain black robes. That’s when he saw him. Another young boy, probably another Hogwarts student, with eyes like mercury, platinum hair slicked back so flat that he must have used magic or handfuls of product, and a smugly upturned nose. And only inches away from Harry. Harry had almost bumped into the other boy, so caught up in his conversation with his interpreter, and he flushed once he realized that.   _‘Hi.’_ He waved shyly, knowing that Remus would be repeating the greeting aloud as he saw the other step up to stand between him and the blond, well in view of both of them. _‘I didn’t see you there. I’m Harry. What’s your name?’_

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Surely you’ve heard of me?” The boy looked questioningly at Remus as he answered, his haughty expression contorted slightly by confusion. Remus gave a quick explanation about how he was speaking for Harry and that Draco was free to face Harry and otherwise ignore Remus, and the blond seemed eager to do so, turning away from the man dressed in a well worn Gryffindor sweater. “Are you a first year too? You must be muggle born, or you’d know who the Malfoys are.”

Harry cocked his head to one side and then assigned the boy a name sign quickly, knowing that he’d never be spelling out wizarding names correctly if they all sounded like ‘Draco’. His hand mimed slicking back his hair with a nod at Remus - a gesture that earned an annoyed blush from the boy who saw the miming without context - and then continued with his response. _‘Oh, they say that my parents were both magical, but I’m new to… all of this. I’m Harry Potter, but last names aren’t that big of a deal, are they? We’re all first years together, and that’s more important!’_

“Don’t be such a Hufflepuff, Potter.” Draco snapped, wishing he knew any BSL to make sure that the adult speaking for Harry wasn’t putting his own words in the other’s mouth. If this was Harry Potter - and admittedly, Draco could now see the scar - then why would he have been raised away from magic? What did that mean? That he’d been raised by muggles? That didn’t make any sense, so Draco was half convinced that Harry was lying to him and just trying to get a rise out of him by pretending that he didn’t know who the Malfoys were.

 _‘There’s nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff.’_ Harry replied firmly, frowning severely at the other. _‘So don’t say it like it’s an insult.’_

“I suppose better a Hufflepuff than a Slytherin, right?” Draco shot back, “That it’s okay to be anything as long as you’re not a snake? Is that the kind of fairness that the Light is preaching now?”

 _‘Oh, Draco. “The best house to be in is the one where you feel like you belong, where you’re happy and grow into your full potential.”’_ He quoted Remus firmly, not missing the proud smile that Lupin wore as he repeated his words. _‘If that’s Slytherin for you, then I’m happy for you! I don’t know where I’ll be, but it’ll be nice to… to have a_ family _, you know?’_

“No.” The reply was cutting, “I already have my own family; most first years do. But I suppose you wouldn’t know what that’s like, would you, Potter?”

Harry flinched, turning almost as pale as Draco, and then two hands moved at the same time. Remus reached out to steady Harry, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and placing himself a bit more between the pair, ready to intervene if Harry asked for him to; just as Remus’ hand settled soothingly on Harry’s shoulder, a pale hand slammed down on Draco’s own shoulder, grip crushing. “That’s enough, Draco.” Lucius Malfoy hissed, expression oddly flat and controlled as he turned to the other child. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. I’m sorry it had to happen because my son forgot his manners. I assure you that it won’t happen again. Now, why don’t I get Madam Malkin for you so you can get fitted?” Before Harry could reply, the elder Malfoy had dragged his son off, the younger babbling apologies that Harry couldn’t hear.

Remus sighed, pulling Harry into another hug, and swore again that he would tell Harry _everything_ before he went to Hogwarts. He needed to know about the factions and politics that would affect him - that were already affecting him. By the time they left the store, Harry was in a much better mood and the proud owner of a bag of robes and ties that would change color to reflect his house once he was sorted.

Next stop: Ollivander’s!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter we've had so far, and I think I like the length better. Going to start doing 2k-3k words a chapter instead of 1k once Harry is at Hogwarts, I think. Let me know what you think!


	6. Kneazle Amongst The Owls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about 3 times longer than normal and also dedicated to Liebekatze, whose comments always inspire me. 
> 
> Please enjoy; I've been excited for this chapter since I started the fic.

Remus let out a sigh of relief as he led Harry into the blessedly empty store. Choosing a wand could be an overwhelming experience at the best of times - and Ollivander’s crowded store, Harry’s fame, and their shared need for interpretation did not reassure Remus that the ceremony would go smoothly. They would be fine, though, he knew, because Harry had faced much worse than Garrick Ollivander’s intense focus and strange brilliance. They entered the store mid joke, a hoarse laugh dying on Harry’s lips as he looked around at the messily stacked rows of boxed wands. _‘Wicked.’_ He signed, jaw dropping, and Remus gave a quick glance around before nodding in agreement. _‘But I - Remus, how am I going to cast magic? You all say things when you do, and I_ can’t _speak. Not well, at least. And if I’m supposed to fingerspell the spells - well, you know that BSL requires two hands, so how am I supposed to hold a wand at the same time? I don’t want to have to do magic like every hearing wizard, but I’m not sure how to do it like_ me _either. How have other Deaf wizards done it? I’m not alone, am I?’_ He was _tired_ of being alone.

 _‘No. You grandfather was a deaf wizard; he’s why I learned to sign. You father - he signed beautifully, and his father was very kind and always made us feel like part of the family.’_ Harry had that hopeful, pained expression he wore whenever his parents came up, and Remus wished he had more time to soothe all those hurts. At least they’d be able to discuss it more going forward, now that the kneazle was out of the bag. _‘But he, like all Deaf wizards I know, was oral, at least for spells. He was raised in a pureblood family, and they taught him to speak Latin, even if he preferred BSL to spoken English. He couldn’t_ hear _his spells, but he could cast them. That’s always been the way.’_

 _‘But not with me.’_ Harry protested, _‘I wasn’t raised oral or with Latin. I was raised signing._ You _raised me signing. You’ve been signing with me every day of my life since I was seven, and you_ know _I don’t talk if I don’t have to. And I don’t think I can say something in Latin without it coming out all kinds of wrong. What if my spells don’t work? What if I hurt someone by mistake? What if hurt_ you _? I said I didn’t want to be brave anymore, but that doesn’t mean I want to hurt you either! Remus, what am I going to_ do _? I can’t be the freak here too. I_ can’t _.’_

Remus’ heart dropped into roughly the area of his stomach, but he didn’t have time to respond further before Ollivander appeared behind his counter, ducking around the corner to prowl over to them. “Ah, Mr. Potter! I’ve been waiting over a decade to see you in this store.” The boy’s face crinkled in annoyed confusion, and Remus renewed his vow to fill the other in on his history before he went on the Hogwarts Express. “You should have brought him here first, Lupin, but better late than never.” He didn’t seem bothered by the signed conversation unfolding between Remus and his charge, not pausing for clarification on the interpreting process like many of the other clerks and well-wishers had done. “Now, what seems to be the problem, gentlemen? Not too often do I see quite so much bickering before the wands even come out.”

 _‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to sign while using a wand.’_ Harry explained with an exasperated flop of his hands, and Remus spoke the words with the same petulant tone, hoping that Ollivander would have some solution to the problem he hadn’t even considered, much as he should have. _Another failure added to his long and growing list._

“And what do you know about wands, Mr. Potter?”

The boy’s brow furrowed further, but he didn’t seem as bothered by questions as he was by mentions to his unknown and misunderstood fame. _‘You hold a wand and say a spell and magic happens, right? I guess you learn how to say different spells and stuff at Hogwarts. Maybe different wand movements for different spells? And the magic goes through the wand and then it just_ happens _.’_

Ollivander barked out a laugh, but his gaze didn’t seem unkind. “Oh, Mr. Potter, it’s so much more than that - and so much less, too. Words and wand movements help - and so do wands; they help _quite_ a lot, and there’s a good reason that I make and sell them. But magic is more than that. It’s you pushing your power from here-” He tapped his chest, “-and making it happen out there.” His hand swept out in front of him, “And it can happen without a wand, without words, and without movements if need be. It’s just much, much harder without all those tools.”

The boy froze, breath held for a long moment, and then he nodded as he exhaled. _‘Like my accidental magic when I was younger. I didn’t have a wand and I_ certainly _didn’t know any spells.’_ He still didn’t, after all. _‘But I still made it on top of that roof by myself, didn’t I?’_ Remus nodded encouragingly, _‘And the goblins didn’t have any wands, but they still had magic! So I don’t need to do magic like everyone else; I just need to do magic like_ me, _whatever that ends up meaning.’_

Ollivander nodded with a self satisfied smirk. “Many people think that they come into a wand shop so that they may choose a wand, and perhaps that is true at lesser establishments. But here, at least, we believe that the wand chooses the wizard, so I’m going to fetch you some potential candidates, Mr. Potter. When I do so, just wave it. Don’t worry about spells or words or anything else but what you feel in here.” He tapped his chest again, “And if anything goes wrong, please know that I’ll handle it, and others have done much, much worse than you, and will do so again. You are safe here.” And then he was darting away, pulling boxes out of the organized chaos.

The first wand was pushed into Harry’s small hand, and he waved it curiously as Remus interpreted for the shop owner’s mumbling. _‘Twelve inches, moderately flexible, oak and dragon heartstring.’_ A shower of sickly yellow sparks fell from the tip, and Harry gaped in surprise when the wand was ripped from his hands. Surely the flecks of light counted as a success! He’d done his first bit of magic with a wand! But apparently Ollivander expected more, and another wand was eased into his slack grip. _‘Ten and three quarter inches, springy, willow and unicorn hair.’_ He waved his wand again, and this one must have made a loud bang; Harry heard a small portion of the sound from his left ear, but Remus’ covered his own ears with a wince as Ollivander snatched the wand from him, and that was clear enough.

His apology was interrupted by another piece of wood being shoved into his moving hands. _‘Maple and phoenix feather. Twelve and a half inches, rather stiff.’_ Remus looked wary this time, but nodded encouragingly at Harry when the young boy hesitated. Purple bubbles spewed from the end of his wand, and Harry couldn’t help but think that this was the best result he’d gotten so far since they smelled the exact same way that candy floss tasted, all spun sugar and sweetness and hot summer days. Still, Ollivander didn’t seem quite satisfied, expression contemplative in a way that made sweat trickle down Harry’s back.

“It couldn’t be, but maybe… Holly with a phoenix feather core, 11 inches, nice and supple." Ollivander moved nearer as he handed over the wand, watching Harry with sharp eyes. “Focus on how it felt to do magic for the first time with a wand, to see those little yellow sparks. Focus on how it felt to - what was it you said? Escape to a roof? On what you felt when you got your Hogwarts letter, when you saw magic, when you found out you were a wizard. Focus on _magic,_ Mr. Potter, and then wave this wand and let those feelings flow through you and out the wand.”

The wood felt _right_ as soon as soon as it hit his hand, but it wasn’t like Harry could leave it at that, could deny the urge to fling his hopes and desires into the wand and see what happened, to be a part of a display of magic that would make Ollivander _pleased_ instead of just increasingly agitated. So with one final nod, Harry closed his eyes and focused on the memories; a feeling of warmth built in his chest and he dove further into it eagerly. _I’m a wizard._ He reminded himself, stoking the flames. _I’m a wizard, and so were my parents. They weren’t drunks, and they didn’t die in a car crash; they were heroes, and they_ loved _me, and_ I belong here. _’_ He raised the wand up slowly and then brought it down, slicing through the air as the warmth burned through him before concentrating in his wand hand and then, just like that, it was gone. He felt empty and overflowing all at the same time, and he opened his eyes reluctantly, worried about what mess he would see once he had.

Every single box in the shop was glowing in a coppery light and those that had room to float on their shelves did so, wobbling slightly as he cast an awed glance around the room. The papers and quill on Ollivander’s desk were floating too, a single drop of ink floating an inch from the tip of the feathered quill but suspended in air as well, and Ollivander and Remus were glowing with the same light. Thankfully, the two men were still firmly planted on the ground, although maybe through magic of their own. His hand shook, and the wand - _his_ wand - fell from his fingers. As soon as the slim piece of wood hit the ground, the glow dimmed and went out and the loose items in the room all settled back into the spots, guided with a quick spell from Ollivander. He was clearly pleased, although a strange wonderment kept him from being as ecstatic as Remus clearly was. “Curious.” He noted, and Remus _barely_ had the focus to sign it despite the fact that he agreed emphatically. He’d never seen a wand choose a wizard with _quite_ so much force before in his life.

 _‘Curious how?’_ Harry asked, because of course he didn’t know how the process normally went _‘That was better than yellow sparks, right?’_

“Oh, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander replied firmly, “That was quite spectacular and much better than sparks of any color. But your display wasn’t what I find curious; I quite figured it would happen, although your guardian clearly didn’t, judging by the shell shocked expression he’s _still_ wearing. What’s curious is, well.” He scooped up the dropped wand in wizened fingers, giving it an assessing look. “The phoenix who donated the feather for this core only ever gave one other, and the twin of your wand did terrible but amazing things, Mr. Potter. It was the one who gave you this scar.” He reached out with his empty hand, brushing Harry’s messy hair aside. “I wonder what you’ll do with yours.” The inkwell from before, only recently returned to its spot on the counter, shattered with a sharp crack that Harry couldn’t hear and a scattering of glittering shards that Harry couldn’t miss, and Ollivander Vanished the mess rather than attempt to clean it. Harry reached out to apologize, but his new wand was dropped into his palms before he could. “I deserved that, Mr. Potter. You’re a child, and I should have kept my thoughts to myself. Now, 7 galleons.”

Remus helped Harry count out the golden discs and then hurried him out of the store before anything _else_ broke, especially his own fragile temper. Harry, his cub in all but blood, was slowly calming himself down, but the casual reference to his parents’ murderer and his newfound connection to him had obviously shaken him. _‘Let’s find Hagrid.’_ Remus suggested, resisting the urge to pull Harry into a tight hug; like at the muggle school he’d spent the past five years in, there were expectations for the behavior of Hogwarts staff, and hugging students was not quite _done,_ after all. _‘If that’s okay with you?’_

Harry agreed and it didn’t take them long to find the half-giant now that he was done with whatever errands had pulled him away before. He was standing in front of Eeylops Owl Emporium  and watching a stately snowy owl as the pair approached. _‘Hagrid!’_ Harry greeted warmly, laughing in startled delight as he swept up into a tight hug. Hagrid had never cared much for propriety, after all.

“I was thinking about getting ye’ a pet for Hogwarts.” Hagrid explained once Harry was back on his feet and able to watch Remus’ hands. “Owls are dead useful, they are. Wizards use them to deliver mail, and they’re very intelligent creatures.”

The snowy owl hooted, but Harry couldn’t hear it; his lips twisted slightly in the start of a grimace. “I think it might be wise for Harry to pick his own pet.” Remus interjected as gently as possible, hands quick to soothe Harry’s response when the boy was already fragile and emotional. “Why don’t we also look at the Magical Menagerie? They have more options.” Hagrid agreed easily, never one to turn down looking at mundane or magical animals, and Harry gratefully took the excuse to walk a bit further in silence and calm his frayed nerves.

The Menagerie featured cages outside the window like the Owl Emporium had, but it was crowded and lively in a way that Harry embraced, even if only to keep his mind off dark thoughts. There were owls again here but various other animals too: a bright blue snake that Harry hissed an absent greeting to, a tortoise with shimmering jewels on its shell, sleek rats with twitching noses - and, crouching amongst the owls and clearly escaped from its proper cage, a large cat. The cat was a muddy brown color and unremarkable except for the speckles of white in its fur, a tail that was fluffier at the end, and some slightly oversized ears. Still, it had warm honey colored eyes and it didn't protest when Harry scooped it up to move it away from the owls who seemed agitated by its presence.

“Naughty kitty.” He mouthed the words soundlessly against the soft fur, nuzzling into it as he turned back towards Hagrid and Remus to ask for help returning the cat to the right section. The escapee, tricky thing that it was, began to purr loudly and Harry could feel the noise vibrating against his chest. “Oh.” This time, his speech had the faintest sound with it, a gust of his breath rustling the silky soft fur. An owl might be _useful_ , but this cat was soothing in a way that an owl couldn’t be. The pressure of the large cat against his chest, not to mention the rumble of its purring, felt calming in a way that a _delivered letter_ could never be; besides, he was sure there were owls at the school for him to borrow if he needed one, and who would he be writing letters to anyways? The only people who cared about him worked at the school, after all.

He returned to Remus, setting the cat down reluctantly, worried that it would run off. It settled by his feet, placing one paw on one of Harry’s ratty trainers, and Harry let out a sigh of relief, any last doubts erased. _‘I want the cat.’_ He declared, and then shrunk in on himself, years of neglect robbing him of the confidence he wished he had. _‘If that’s alright?’_

 _‘He’s lovely, Harry.’_ Remus replied at once, crouching down and reaching out a hand for the cat to sniff. It did, gracing him with a single lick, and the older man counted that as a win. After all, many cats were repulsed by the canine scent that lingered on his skin. _‘A wonderful choice. What will you call him?’_

 _‘Houdini!’_ Harry spelled out quickly, proud of himself for coming up with a fitting name already, and Remus chuckled as he rose back to his feet, groaning softly as he stretched. _‘What do you think, Hagrid?’_ Would the large man be hurt that Harry hadn’t gotten a “dead useful” owl?

“He looks like he’s half kneazle, Harry!” Hagrid exclaimed excitedly, “Kneazles are as intelligent as any owl and an excellent judge of character to boot! I’m sure he’ll be a great partner in crime once you end up in Gryff- wherever you end up, that is.” He’d been scolded enough times about his house preferences by the pair that he sometimes managed to catch himself. “I’ll show you the Owlery as soon as I can so you know how to send letters when you need to, but Remus will be there to help you too, of course. Oh, I have so many animals to show ye’, Harry! I can’t wait for you to meet Fang, oh-!”

Hagrid continued to ramble as they took Houdini to the counter and passed over coins to a shopkeeper that didn’t seem too sad to see the cat go. In fact, Hagrid kept up a nearly endless discussion of magical beasts as they moved through Potage's Cauldron Shop, Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, and Flourish & Blotts, and only really ended when they all sat down to celebrate the end of their productive day with some of Florean Flortescue's best ice cream. Harry didn’t mind though, not really, since it had helped keep his thoughts from things he couldn’t handle yet. _A unnatural green light in a familiar room. Lies about car crashes. Being stuck in that horrible, cramped cupboard under the stairs._

They end the day with Remus and Harry sharing a room in the Leaky Cauldron ( _‘Why would we return you to that horrid muggle house, Harry? We’re already so behind with what we need to teach you and they’re likely to lock up all your new books!’_ ) with Harry’s new purring pet curled up on his chest, his kneazle from amongst the owls.


	7. Spectacular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; I haven't been felling well mentally or physically. Have another longer chapter to help make up for it.

The next morning - not that there was much _morning_ to experience, since Harry had been allowed to sleep in for the first time in as long as he could remember - began with breakfast in their rented Leaky Cauldron room. Sitting across from Remus on the floor with his wand beside him and a plate of eggs balanced on one leg, Harry was signing with lazy movements, sleep stealing any precision his fluency would have normally exacted. _‘What happened in Ollivander’s proves that I won’t need to speak my spells for them to work - which is good, right?’_

Remus hesitated, setting down his own plate so that he could sign with much crisper signing than the tired youth. _‘On one hand? Yes, you’ll be able to cast magic without starting speech therapy this late in life to try to attempt otherwise.’_ Harry raised his hands, ready to protest that he would not have been willing to do so if requested, and Remus sighed and nodded, _‘I know, I know. And even if you were willing, I’m not sure the latin spells would have gone so well. All that aside, incantations and wand movements make casting spells_ significantly _easier, and you’re going to have to put a lot of practice in if you want to keep up with your classes. But you’re a hard worker, Harry, and I’m not too concerned about that.’_ The boy perked up at the praise, taking a messy bite of his eggs as he watched the other. _‘Still, I’d like for us to start reviewing textbooks before you go to school so that you can have a decent grasp of the theoretical components, at the very least. We’ll also need time to set up signs for concepts that you’ll encounter often; I’m not sure that I can fingerspell T-R-A-N-S-F-I-G-U-R-A-T-I-O-N as fast as Professor McGonagall can say it.’_ Remus gave a cheeky smile, spelling the class name slowly on purpose.

Harry didn’t seem very concerned, eventually signing sloppily with one hand as he used the other to shovel breakfast into his mouth. _‘It’ll be like our BSL study sessions all over again. I don’t mind putting in the extra time, Remus, you know that. I’ve always known that I need to put in two times the effort to keep up with my hearing classmates, and going to a Wizarding School doesn’t really change that. Some of these kids have been around magic their whole lives, and I know that means they’re going to start at an advantage.’_

 _‘That’s true.’_ Remus allowed, seeming slightly reluctant, fearing the boy might think the advantage was too much to overcome.

 _'But I have an advantage too.’_ His grin was soppy, fond in a way that made Remus’ heart twist in paternal warmth. _‘I have you.’_

They focused on their breakfast after that, finally finishing it up and setting the plates aside. Harry, settling one hand on his full stomach, sighed happily as he curled his toes in a contented stretch. _‘Can we go shopping for muggle clothing today?’_

 _‘I think that’s a great idea, Harry. I’ve seen you in Dudley’s cast offs for years, and I’m_ tired _of it.’_

Shopping for muggle clothing went better than their visit to Madam Malkin’s had. For one, there were no young Slytherins-to-be harassing Harry as he tried on various jeans, tees, and sweaters. It was still an overwhelming and tiring experience, but Harry braved the occasional crowds better than Remus had expected; in fact, he seemed to be delighted by the prospect of having new clothing all of his own, clothing that fit and didn’t force him to walk around with reminders of the Dursley’s neglect. To be quite honest, Remus couldn’t blame him. By the time they left the muggle shopping mall, with magically-lightened bags of clothing, Harry was drooping in exhaustion again. _‘Back to the Leaky Cauldron?’_ He asked hopefully. 

_‘Yes.’_ Came the emphatic reply. _‘I desperately need some tea and lunch, and then we need to talk about - well a few things, actually.’_ Belatedly, Remus realized that his comment might make the raven haired boy nervous, but Harry only nodded once sharply, setting his jaw resolutely. It stung to know the reason why: Harry was used to adults disappointing and betraying him, and he had learned better than to talk back to them or demand answers. He wanted to reassure Harry that it wasn’t anything bad, but he couldn’t promise any such thing, not when it was related to the death of Harry’s parents. Sighing heavily, Remus led them back to their room.

Lunch was a stitled affair, and the following talk was even worse. Remus had expected the boy to blow up - his anger was well known to his interpreter, and actually quite common with Deaf children who couldn’t communicate at home - but he’d become more and more withdrawn as Remus continued. He’d asked very few questions, and at one point he’d been crying too hard to read the other’s hands and they’d taken a short break while Harry crawled into Remus’ lap and pressed his trembling frame against the other’s chest. Eventually, the boy was calmed and they continued the conversation, Remus frequently taking breaks to soothe the other. Once Harry knew more about his family, the Wizarding World, and the war, they’d had more tea and some of the chocolate that Remus carried around; Harry eventually calmed down with a purring Houdini in his lap and their conversation turned into lighter but equally important topics.

 _‘Wizards, especially Purebloods, might talk to you about magically ‘fixing’ your hearing. I already_ know _that you’re going to tell them no, and in much more colorful language than that, but I wanted to be able to say I’d mentioned the possibility to you. The spells they’re using are more effective on babies or those who recently lost their hearing, and neither are true for you; it might be worth mentioning both of those points if anyone is insistent.’_

 _‘It’s just a magical cochlear implant.’_ Harry observed, earning a nod of agreement from his interpreter. _‘Not interested.’_

 _‘I know. There are other spells that are more like hearing aids, ones that will amplify sound on a more temporary basis, and I must stress that those are only for_ short term _use; they cause nasty headaches if used continuously. Still, they’re a viable option for days when I’m too sick to interpret in classes if you don’t want to bring in another interpreter.’_

Harry wrinkled his nose at that; he’d never liked the substitute interpreters who’d taken Remus’ place at his old school. _‘I’d rather try the spell.’_

 _‘I also picked up some academic Quick Quotes Quills, which might help too. You’ll be able to attune them to your professors and then they’ll jot down anything said. It’s not perfect, and I know that you prefer signed access, but it’s another avenue open to you. We’ll meet with your professors to discuss and fine-tune solutions until you’re happy with them. Outside of classes, I’ll have quarters near your common room, regardless of which house you’re sorted into.’_ Harry raised his hands in question and Remus chuckled, _‘Hogwarts is_ magical, _remember? The castle moves as it sees fit. Anyways, I’ll be close by in case you need me, but not in your dorm. Because of that, I’ve gathered a few spells that I think will be helpful: a spell to make your pillow vibrate when it’s time to wake up, a spell to make your bedpost flash a light when someone knocks on it or the dorm doors, and a few others. We’ll have to wait until after your Sorting to handle the password; you may not need to worry about speaking one, but we’ll find a solution if so.’_

After they’d gone over all the topics Remus thought Harry could handle in one day, he spelled some gentle music onto the room’s wireless and curled up with a book. Harry was working on writing short sentences with his new quill as Houdini batted happily at the feathered end. _‘Why can’t I just use a biro?’_ Harry asked after a while, smears of ink visible on his moving hands.

 _‘For quite a few reasons, tradition being the most obvious one. For another, most magical contracts are signed with spelled ink and quills; even your OWLs and NEWTs - tests at Hogwarts - will require them. And you see how hard it is to use quills without practice; can you imagine doing that on a timed test?’_ Harry grimaced but turned back to his parchment. Remus turned back to his book but smiled sadly behind the pages; he remembered Lily, brilliant muggleborn Lily, asking the same thing. She’d called James arrogant for proclaiming that wizards used quills because they were _superior_ , and she’d used a fountain pen out of spite for weeks after.

A few hours (and much longer than Remus thought Harry would be able to last) later, Harry set the quill down and stretched out stiff hands, nearly whimpering as he uncurled tense fingers. _‘I’m never going to get used to this.’_ He whined, earning a huff of a laugh from his interpreter. _‘How do muggleborns do this? How am_ I _going to do this?_

 _‘With hard work before, more than a little frustration during, and great pride after.’_ Remus answered, reaching out to ruffle already messy hair. _‘And I’ll be there for all of it.’_

And Remus was right. Over the next few weeks, Harry dove into his work with a vigor that any Ravenclaw would have envied. In the weeks leading up to his first day, Harry was relocated to Hogwarts, which he had explored as thoroughly as any Marauder could have hoped to do in as little time, but he spent most of his day in the library or their temporary housing, studying his required texts and trying to force his magic through his holly wand. Sometimes, it went spectacularly badly, but sometimes it was just plain spectacular.

Harry had never been the best student, but he wasn’t _bad_ either. He had started out in the school system at a disadvantage, lacking the incidental learning that his peers had. He didn’t know words, concepts, or social cues that other kids were able to pick up from overhearing parents talking or playing with friends. Harry might not consider deafness a disability now, but he had been severely affected by the Dursleys unwillingness to do - well, anything, really. When he started in the public school system, it seemed like his only priority was to avoid making waves; he refused to ask for accomodations, even when his grades suffered otherwise, and his family never fought for him before he was old enough to do it himself. But then he’d met Remus, and the material finally became - slowly, achingly - accessible. He had to work hard to catch up, but he’d done so; he had to work hard to learn the class content while also learning a whole new language, but he’d done so. He applied the same work ethic to his Hogwarts work, cramming years of catch up in too little time.

By the time the other first years arrived, Harry had at least a passable understanding of the material laid out in his books and had established signs for most of the new magical words Remus thought he was likely to need. As far as they were both concerned, he was as ready as could be expected, if not slightly more exhausted than the first years who spent the last few weeks with friends instead of studying until late each night. And then, still tired but undeniably excited and hiding a yawn behind one hand, Harry merged with the frightened group of students that Hagrid brought in from the Hogwarts Express. Remus, who had spent the past few weeks mere feet away from him, was now standing up by Professor McGonagall, wearing black robes that had seen better days. A kind smile on his lips, he raised his hands and began to interpret the Sorting Hat’s song.

Watching Remus fingerspell dozens of names was painful; by the time his own rolled around, Harry was eager to be sorted just so he could rest his eyes and join one of the four long tables stretched out across the room. He stepped forward, not able to hear the hush that had swept over the hall but knowing by the sudden tension in the bodies around him that he was once again the center of attention for something he couldn’t help. Unlike when the Durlseys punished him for “freakish behavior”, however, this was easier to ignore. He wouldn’t be punished for making his way up to McGonagall or putting on the worn looking hat. So he did, hands clenched into fists so that they wouldn’t visibly tremble.  The last thing he saw before the hat settled over his brow was Remus’ encouraging smile.

 _“Oh.”_ The voice was low and husky and much, much clearer than any voice Harry had ever heard; it was unsettling to hear someone speak so crisply after so long without. _“The Chosen One.”_ The hat sounded amused, which Harry found unsettling; how did a hat have _emotions_ at all? _“You’ve been betrayed by so many people, but you’re still so kind. You reach out to help the people who wound you. You try to make the world better, don’t you?”_

 _“That’s what people_ should _do.”_ Harry replied with a soft laugh that echoed in his own mind. _“It’s not remarkable or noteworthy to be kind.”_

 _“Kindness is always noteworthy.”_ The hat replied, and it reminded the young boy of Remus’ gentle chiding whenever Harry dismissed his praise. _“But let’s see what else I might find.”_ There was a pause and then an amused, albeit faintly startled, continuation, _“You already have a study schedule in mind, do you? Do you want to be in Ravenclaw, Harry?”_

 _“If that’s where you think I belong.”_ Came the immediate reply. _“Do you think I’ll grow in Ravenclaw? WIll I be happy there?”_

 _“Those are different questions.”_ A sigh. _“And perhaps ones with different answers. But as long as you are happy, the rest will fall into place, won’t it?”_ The voice faded with a contented sigh and Harry jolted as the hat was removed from his head. The room was loud from motion, his eyes overwhelmed by the amount of people clapping and waving their hands about; Harry yanked his gaze away, focusing on Remus, hoping that whatever name the Sorting Hat had shouted out would make his eldest friend proud.

 _‘Hufflepuff.’_ Remus signed, radiating pride and paternal love, and Harry nodded with a dopey smile of his own as he slid off the tall stool and made his way over to the clapping yellow and black table, Remus - as always - only a step to his side. They settled down, Remus’ hands flying with introductions as the students around him all clambered to greet him. After another moment, the sortings continued until the crowd of first years had dwindled to none, the Headmaster stood at the head of the room, and Remus was forced to fingerspell some gibberish words that had Harry giggling as food appeared around the room.

It was ridiculous, magical, and simply, undeniably, spectacular.


	8. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long! There were some family emergencies, and I also graduated, moved, and got a job as an interpreter. This chapter is a little short but the pacing was so slow for it that I thought it should end here so that the next chapter can hopefully be a faster pace. 
> 
> I hope to get the next chapter up in a day or two! Please leave a comment if you liked the update.

There were too many names to learn in one meal, especially when Harry had to look between his plate, the awestruck faces of his new housemates, and Remus’ hands. Steady, practiced hands that formed names clearly and crisply as tanned fingers danced over a calloused palm, hands that never wavered even as they spelled out Wizarding names that seemed as ridiculous to Harry as the Latin they used for their spells, hands that were the only constant the young Hufflepuff had at the moment. Hands that had tapped tables to get his attention for years, hands that had offered an endless supply of chocolates from Remus’ pocket (almost like magic, and maybe it actually  _ was _ ), hands that had applied bandaids to skinned knees, hands that had helped him neaten his unruly hair before he went home so Vernon wouldn’t yell, hands that had supported him both physically and metaphorically for his whole life. Hands he would trust with his life, even if that meant turning his whole world upside down on the words of a giant. He’d do almost anything to get away from the Dursleys, and he’d risk even more with Remus at his side.

‘ _ You can stop. _ ’ Harry interjected eventually, shaking his head as a sheepish smile played at his lips. ‘ _ I’d rather just eat, honestly, and a room this large isn’t where I want to test out the amplification spells you showed me. But thank you. _ ’

Much as they were appreciated, Remus’ best efforts wouldn’t be enough for the green eyed youth to remember the long list names and they both knew it. Remus, patient and understanding as always, took to the dismissal without needing to be told twice, piling a plate with Hogwarts’ familiar and long missed cuisine for himself, digging in with a wolfish hunger. With his interpreter busy, Harry did his best to smile and nod his way through the rest of the introductions while he ate, hoping no one would expect him to remember a single name.

During the start of term feast, Harry ate rich, hearty foods that Harry had cooked for the Dursleys but never been allowed to eat himself. Roast chicken, lamb chops, steak and kidney pie, potatoes, and Yorkshire pudding were shoveled onto his plate and into his mouth, and he was full before long. He settled back in his seat, one hand resting on his bloating stomach. ‘ _ Delicious. _ ’ The Hufflepuff sighed after he’d cleared his plate for the final time, chasing the last savory mouthful with a swig of syrupy sweet pumpkin juice. ‘ _ Are all meals like this here? _ ’

‘ _ Not quite. _ ’ Remus replied, a good natured laugh showing clearly on his lined, scarred face. ‘ _ But they’re all this delicious; remember the house elves I told you about? They cook and clean at Hogwarts, and their work never disappoints. _ ’

‘ _ Well, I’m full! I don’t think I’ll be able to eat again for a week! _ ’ Harry replied, making a face as if just the prospect of eating more made him feel sick to his stomach. Still, his hands had barely rested back against the table before the serving plates were replaced by ones decked out in tarts, trifles, pies, and puddings. All previous declarations aside, Harry still pushed himself enough to finish a piece of treacle tart, Remus snorting a laugh into his own goblet when Harry let out a deeply sated groan when he finally pushed his plate away with a firmly signed ‘ _ No more, no more!’ _

After the meal, the tired Hufflepuff felt like he was nearly waddling off to his new dorms, not used to feeling full or even sated after meals. He followed after his Prefects and chatted with Justin Finch-Fletchley, an excitable housemate who wouldn’t stop talking about Eton, a muggle school he was planning to go to before he received his Hogwarts letter, and the work of Gilderoy Lockhart. ‘ _ Not sure who that is. _ ’ Remus admitted at Harry’s questioning look. ‘ _ Must have written his books after I moved out into Muggle Surrey to interpret for you. _ ’ Harry just shrugged - he had enough to read in his limited time, after all! - and looked around curiously at the passageway, noting a painting of a bowl of fruit just as everyone stopped in front of what seemed like a pile of normal barrels, ones more suited to a store room than a hallway. Harry raised his hands in question, wondering if they were waiting for stragglers, when Remus' hands also came up and stopped him.

“Please take note of this barrel here.” Their guide began, causing Harry to look sharply between Remus' hands and the stack of what still seemed to be ordinary storage. “Two from the bottom, middle of the second row. Do you all see? Good. Instead of a changing password, we knock on the barrel in the rhythm of the name of our founder. Does anyone know it?” He was clearly trying to engage the frightened first years cowering together before him, and Harry raised his hand reluctantly, unsure how any of his reading and preparation would help him know how someone's name was  _ said _ , of all things.

‘ _ Helga Hufflepuff? _ ’ He ventured, fingertips forming the foreign name on his palm.

“That’s right!” As the older student turned to knock on the barrel, Remus moved forward swiftly and took Harry’s hand in both of his, rapping his knuckles against the smaller palm.  _ One-two, one-two-three. _ Pulling away as quickly as he’d moved in, the interpreter raised his hands dutifully as the crowd began to progress into the common room through a newly opened door. “Knocking on the wrong barrel or getting the rhythm wrong will trigger a protective spell - nothing dangerous, but quite smelly! Another barrel will spray vinegar at you, and you won’t make many friends if you track it into the common room, so learn a cleaning charm if you can’t remember the pattern, and please don’t share it with members of the other houses. We haven’t had to change the password in generations, and I would hate to have to learn a new one now!” Laughing, he finally stepped aside enough for Harry and Remus to stumble in the door together.

‘ _ How do you like it?’ _ Remus asked kindly, seeing the awe written on every inch of Harry’s face. Hogwarts had felt safe and secure to him as a first year too, and Hufflepuff had an even more welcoming common room than Gryffindor did.

‘ _ Is this what a home feels like? _ ’ Because this was a young boy who didn’t remember his time at Godric’s Hollow, didn’t remember his blanket covered in tiny snitches with fluttering wings, didn’t remember Lily’s kisses or James’ braying laugh when Harry did something particularly cute, a boy whose Hogwarts letter had been addressed to  _ The Cupboard Under the Stairs _ .

The room was round and decorated in warm, earthy tones; low ceilings were flooded by natural light from circular windows that peeked out on a grassy view. Couches and chairs were in bright yellow with black accents, flowering plants dotted every available surface, and round wooden doors led to the dormitories. The doors reminded Harry of The Hobbit, one of his first introductions to magic, a story that Remus had read to him during lonely lunchtimes after Vernon had forbidden him to read anything of the sort and Dudley had bullied him so thoroughly at school that no one had dared eat with him or be seen around him. All in all, it was as good a home as any and a better home than many, and Harry hoped he would flourish here like the many plants in the room.

‘ _ Yes, Harry. _ ’ And suddenly, Remus was certain that Harry had been placed in the right house - and just as certain that James and Lily would have thought the same. ‘ _ Welcome home.’ _


	9. Flights of Fancy

Harry’s first week at Hogwarts went as well as to be expected; he saw- and did! - things that should be impossible on a near daily basis. One of his favorite teachers, a stern woman with a wicked sense of humor that came out in the faintest quirks of her pinched lips and sharp comments shared with Remus, could even turn into a cat. They must have known each other back when Remus lived in the wizarding world, and his eyes always went fond and misty whenever she turned into her furred form. Her class was one of his favorites, a study on the mutability of life and the impermanence of every constant in it, according to A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. 

Or, as Harry summarized it, a reminder that things could change. 

That he could go from a lonely orphan to a hero. That he could be someone that many people deemed useless and helpless, not white or hearing enough to step out from Dudley’s shadow, and become someone magical and powerful and kind. Professor McGonagall said that even with the many things they could change, there were a few they could and should not; she called those constants, and Harry hoped kindness was one of his.

Potions went less well. To be honest, as Harry vented to Remus after, it was a disaster. Professor Snape liked to ask nitpicky questions rooted in book memorization- books that Harry had read, but that used tricky wording that didn’t translate well to BSL - and rarely gave Remus enough time to get the message across and  _ never _ gave enough time for the cultural and language mediation needed to do so effectively. Just as bad, he seemed to have a personal grudge against both Harry and Remus and wore an oily smirk as the pair of them stumbled through extensive questions about ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion, which was definitely  _ not _ a first year potion. Even worse, it was dangerous and difficult to sign while stirring potions or interacting with their ingredients and Harry learned quickly that he’d rather turn in a sludgy, disgusting potion than ask Professor Snape to slow down or repeat himself. 

Still, even with Professor Snape’s attitude and a potion that turned out so badly that Remus had simply  _ banished _ it rather than forcing Harry to turn it in, classes were going well and Harry was making friends for the first time in his life. Besides Justin, there was Neville, a shy housemate who had seen Harry looking at the plants in the Hufflepuff common room and introduced them all by name, spelling the Latin out slowly for Remus to fingerspell correctly. Hermione, a bushy haired Ravenclaw who was more studious than them both by far, had become a friend quickly when she’d offered help to Neville in classes and had approached Harry with a signed ‘ _ it’s nice to meet you’ _ that she’d learned from a book her parents had sent by owl. There were other people he was at least passing friends with - Justin the muggleborn, a pair of red headed twins a few years older than him with a reputation for costing Gryffindor house points, and Draco Malfoy, the first year from Madam Malkin’s who seemed like he was looking for a home and hadn’t found it in Slytherin. Okay so maybe Harry wasn’t actually friends with Draco, but he did feel bad for him.

And now, a passable potion turned in to Snape and Neville discussing the professor’s batlike visage in broken BSL, Harry walked out to where Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were having their first flying lesson with Madam Hooch, a stern looking woman with eyes as sharp as any Deaf person Harry had ever met. ‘ _ Are you sure we can’t fly and sign at the same time? _ ’ Harry asked Remus, not for the first time, as he and Neville approached a row of brooms laid out on the grass.

‘ _ Quite sure. _ ’ Looking pale at the thought of Harry trying to sign while riding a broom for the first time, Remus swallowed hard. ‘ _ I want your hands on the broom at all times, Harry, do you understand me? Your father took more than enough falls in his time for both of you. _ ’

‘ _ My father? Did he fly? _ ’

‘ _ Like a bird. A cocky, arrogant bird. Now pay attention. _ ’

Harry huffed out a laugh, muffling it behind his hands as their professor began to instruct them on proper form and how to summon a broom to flight. ‘ _ How am I supposed to do that? _ ’ Harry asked incredulously, ‘ _ I’m not going to  _ say _ anything. I can’t just stick my hand out and think about flying. This isn’t Peter Pan! _ ’

‘ _ Come on, Tinker Bell. _ ’ Remus replied cheekily, ‘ _ Just try. How does that I. King Jordan quote go again? _ ’

His sigh sent warm air over his fingertips. ‘ _ Deaf people can do anything hearing people can do except hear. And I guess that includes flying. _ ’ So he stuck his hand out, thinking first the word up, then the sign, and then the feeling of weightlessness he associated with birds - perfectly safe birds with their hands on their brooms, thank you very much. And before he knew it, a worn piece of wood was butting eagerly at the underside of his hand like a dog begging for attention.

‘ _ That’s right. _ ’ Remus agreed. ‘ _ You can. _ ’

Like his father, it seemed that Harry was a natural at flying. His broom lept into his hands, ready to be taken to the sky, and vibrated under his palm as if it could take flight without him. But unlike his father, Harry set his broom back down with a satisfied smile and went over to where Neville was staring wide eyed down at his own broom. “I can’t  _ do _ it.” The other Hufflepuff wailed as soon as Remus was close enough to interpret. “My grandmother was right; I’m not a real wizard! I’ll never be able to fly, and everyone will laugh at me!”

‘ _ Neville. _ ’ Harry interjected, taking one of Neville’s flailing hands in his, squeezing it gently once before letting go so that he could continue. ‘ _ I would never laugh at you if you spent your whole life with both feet on the ground, and you’re already a real wizard and a good friend. Your ability to fly or not doesn’t change that and never will. Stop thinking of it like another book for us to study between classes or another thing your grandmother will judge you for. Think of it as the feeling you get in your chest when your friends support you. Think of it as the wind under your feet supporting you just as much like it will when you’re in the air. Think of it as  _ freedom _ , Neville, and your grandmother can’t do anything to stop you. It’s just you and us and the sky. Now put your hand out and say  _ up _ , and don’t you  _ dare _ stop just because someone who’s not even here might judge you if she could. She’d judge the sun for shining if she thought it would make it feel bad. Come on. _ ’

And so Neville held out his hand - not shaking anymore - and said “ _ up! _ ” in a clearer voice than before.

‘ _ That’s great, Neville! _ ’ Harry cheered, clapping his hands, ‘ _ Like that. Think about freedom. _ ’ Because Neville craved freedom like Harry craved home; they were both things that they’d never gotten and were finally finding at Hogwarts.

Just as a tremor was starting to creep back into Neville’s outstretched hand, he called “ _ up _ ” again, and his broom rose unsteadily up to meet up, brushing his fingertips as if to say ‘sorry for the wait’. And after that, well, any Hufflepuff worth their yellow and black ties knew what to do from there. They walked up the row, coaching other students from both houses until everyone’s broom would leap up on command, some more reluctant than others but all willing to play nice - at least for now, under Madam Hooch’s fierce gaze and Harry’s beaming smile. Harry earned ten points to Hufflepuff for his effort, but the warm pride unfurling in his chest soon dwindled to fear the first time he mounted his broom and pushed off with his feet, launching himself further up into the air than he’d really meant to.

‘ _ Remus!’ _ His hands flew out on instinct, and he tightened his knees around his broom to keep from sliding off; the shift of his body weight sent it jolting higher in the air, though, and he was out of Remus’ reach before the man could even draw his wand. ‘ _ REMUS!’ _ All of the other’s warnings to keep both hands on his broom did little good now, when the broom was tilting and swaying too much for Harry to read the other’s signs, and shouted instructions from Madam Hooch fell, quite literally, on deaf ears. 

His broom twisted under him, his stomach rolling in terror as he went from upright to upside down, the world tilting at an alarming angle as his broom tipped forward again, sending him hurtling towards the ground. Instincts kicked in at the last moment, letting him yank up on the broom just before he collided with Madam Hooch’s hastily cast softening charm. Instead of slamming into the ground, he skid over its surface, grass tickling his cheeks as he bent flat over his broom. Flying close to the ground, Harry wrestled hard to steady it without being able to hear or see instructions, gripping so hard at the wood that splinters bit under his nails and his brown knuckles showed white. Then, miraculously, he stopped unsteadily in front of Madam Hooch, hovering a foot off the ground. He was trembling from head to toe, sweat soaking his skin, but he was upright and in one piece, which was enough to be thankful for.

‘ _ Oh _ .’ He signed as Remus helped him down, an exhilarated laugh spilling past his lips. ‘ _ Oh, I think I liked that. _ ’ And Remus, terrified but loving Remus, laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration is, in fact, the year one Transfiguration text. That said, the quote is mine.
> 
> Please leave comments/kudos if you enjoyed!


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